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“Ilya,” Shane hissed, snapping a hand out to firmly squeeze his boyfriend’s thigh under the table in warning. “Stop winding him up.”
Shane’s eyes lifted up to Ilya’s face just in time to catch the brief flicker of incomprehension before he schooled his expression back into his customary smirk. If they were alone, he’d just ask what Shane meant. But Hayden was in the house, even if he wasn’t in the room, and Ilya didn’t seem willing to let down his walls just yet.
“Stop being a dick and making him annoyed,” he amended, and Ilya made a ‘tch’ at the back of his throat, now sure what Shane meant.
“Is not my fault Hayden is so easy to annoy,” he said, shifting and prying Shane’s hand from his thigh to intertwine their fingers, lifting their hands first to press his warm, soft lips to Shane’s knuckles and then lowering them again so they rested on the tabletop. “Better keep our hands in view. Don’t want him to suffer a heart attack imagining what we might be doing.”
“Ilya,” Shane admonished again, but then Hayden returned from the bathroom, sliding into the seat across from them at Shane’s dining room table.
His eyes zoned right in on their joined hands.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the smirk deepen, and barely had a chance to protest before Ilya’s tongue was trying to make its way into Shane’s mouth.
Normally, he’d open up easily, lean in, take everything Ilya wanted to give. But Shane knew this kiss wasn’t being given because Ilya wanted to kiss him — he could be demanding about them, pouting at Shane until he got his way, not that he had to make too much of a fuss. This kiss wasn’t like those kisses, because this kiss was intended to get a reaction, not from Shane, but from —
“Jesus Christ,” Hayden grumbled, and Shane felt the grin on Ilya’s face as he pulled away.
“No, is just me,” he said, turning and leaning heavily against Shane. “Although you have seen me on the ice, yes? Easy mistake to make.”
“Knock it off,” Shane said, flicking Ilya on the chest. He didn’t specifically aim for his nipple, but he was very well acquainted with where they were, and he wasn’t below using that to his advantage.
Ilya pouted at him for a moment, rubbing at said nipple, before slouching back in his chair with a dramatic huff.
“Fine,” he said, drawing out the sound with a whine. “I will be polite to poor Hayden.”
Just from his tone, Shane highly doubted that.
“Are you mad at me?” Ilya asked later, once they were home, voice incredulous, following behind Shane, even as he tried to put some distance between them, heading towards the kitchen.
Despite his promise, he’d kept up the little swipes at Hayden, and Hayden had done the same in return. It was infuriating.
“No,” he said first, instinctively, before scrunching his face up a little, stopping and standing with his palms flat on the counter. “Actually. Yes. Yeah, I am.”
He hated being mad at Ilya. Their time together was already so short and spaced apart, he didn’t want to waste it fighting. But he’d had enough, and Ilya needed to know. Especially after what he’d pulled today.
Ilya’s arms wrapped around him from behind, and Shane felt him tuck his chin on his shoulder. His warmth soaked through Shane’s shirt, and it took everything in him not to lean back into it.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured against Shane’s neck, voice soft and gentle enough he wanted to accept the apology. But —
“No, you’re not,” he said, turning in Ilya’s arms to look into his face. “Do you even know what’s bothering me?”
Ilya’s brows pulled together, and the puppy look normally got him very far when Shane was just mildly annoyed with him. But this wasn’t Ilya just being his normal self. Shane hadn’t — he didn’t like what had happened. What Ilya had done.
“I will stop bothering Hayden, I promise,” he said simply, somehow finding a way to step closer, bending a little to try and capture Shane’s lips in an apologetic kiss.
Shane quickly ducked back, not quite breaking Ilya’s hold, but not as close as he had been. He almost relented at the look of hurt and confusion on Ilya’s face when he drew back, but he knew he had to hold firm.
“That’s not why I’m mad,” he said, but he did wrap his arms around Ilya’s waist, unable to resist touching him when he looked so soft and lost.
“Then why?” Ilya asked, and Shane felt his fingers twisting in the fabric of Shane’s shirt as he nudged closer. Holding on, without holding on to him. It made his chest warm at the silent message — I won’t hold you here if you don’t want to be, but I still want contact.
“I don’t like you messing with Hayden,” he said, and Ilya’s mouth opened.
Shane pressed a finger to his lips.
To his credit, Ilya didn’t do anything but close his jaw again. Didn’t even try to lick Shane’s finger or take it into his mouth.
He really was trying to listen.
“I don’t like that,” he said, starting again. “But I’m mad because you used our relationship to do it.”
Ilya’s brow only furrowed more, and Shane removed his finger.
“But is our relationship that bothers him,” he said, pressing his lips together for a moment, a sour expression Shane was unfairly fond of. “And that I am half of it.”
“And he needs to get the fuck over that,” Shane agreed. It still irritated him that Hayden couldn’t just give Ilya a chance. The longer it went on, the more ammo Ilya had, after all. “But you kissed me to try and make him mad, not because you wanted to actually kiss me. I hate that. I don’t want you to weaponise us like that.”
“Of course I wanted to kiss you,” Ilya insisted, ducking his head slightly. “I always want to kiss you.”
“But it wasn’t just because you wanted to,” he replied. “It was to make someone I care about mad, which he shouldn’t be, but you shouldn’t be using me — us — as ammo in your silly feud with him.”
Ilya looked down, considering Shane’s words, and then his eyes widened in understanding, turning his face back up to Shane’s.
“Oh,” he said, almost inaudible but full of meaning.
“Yeah,” Shane said, sniffing.
Ilya brought Shane to his chest, and this time he went willingly, pressing his face against a strong, comforting shoulder. Fuck, there was nothing better. Even when they were arguing — and they could fucking argue — being in Ilya’s arms still felt better than being away from them. Maybe it was another symptom of them having so little time together, but Shane didn’t care.
“I hurt you,” Ilya said, and Shane had to sniff again. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.”
“Why’d you do it?” Shane mumbled. His right hand was holding on tight to his left wrist, keeping Ilya in the circle of his arms.
Ilya didn’t try to escape.
“It is fun, annoying him,” he said, but the words had none of his usual blasé attitude and Shane felt him shrug under his cheek. “I know he does not like us being… affectionate. I didn’t think. I just did it.”
Shane hummed and tightened his hold for a moment, gratified to feel Ilya squeeze him back.
“I am sorry, Shane,” Ilya murmured, nosing at his ear, pressing a kiss to the shell of it.
“I know,” he replied, pressing his own lips to the seam where shoulder met neck.
There was a truce between them for the next few days, Ilya somehow simultaneously giving him more space and also being almost unbearably sweet with him. But Shane still had something in his chest about the way Ilya’s eyes had flicked to make sure Hayden was watching, had dived into a kiss normally reserved for just the two of them. It wasn’t just him bothering Hayden with it, but sharing something that was just theirs without thinking about what Shane would think about it. And Ilya’s unusual behaviour just kept bringing it back to the forefront of Shane’s mind, and kept him thinking about it.
Honestly, he’d probably have let it go by now if it wasn’t still so obviously bothering Ilya.
Shane knew he wasn’t the best at reading emotions, but he figured he’d gotten pretty good with Ilya’s. He liked to think so anyway. It was easier when they were together in person, where he could watch the way he moved, the way he spoke. None of that came through on a text, and Shane knew he had misjudged things before. But this time he was pretty sure. Ilya was still feeling bad.
Three days after their disastrous lunch with Hayden, Ilya flopped down on the couch next to him.
“Alright,” he said, pulling Shane’s attention from the game of Mario Kart he was playing. “I have had an idea.”
“Dangerous,” Shane said on pure instinct, and then protested as his controller was taken from his hands. But he couldn’t complain too much — Ilya had hit the pause button for him as he did it.
“Hush, Hollander,” he said, placing the controller on the coffee table and then sitting back on the couch, one leg tucked up under himself. “Do you want to hear my idea or not?”
Shane slumped back as well, drawing up a leg to tuck his foot under his opposite knee.
“Is it some sex game again"?” he asked. “Because last time —”
“No,” Ilya said, and then tilted his head to one side before waving a hand. “Well, it can be. For some people. But not this time, no.”
Shane settled in, shifting his shoulders slightly to adjust the fabric of his hoodie where it had gotten bunched.
“You still feel bad about what I did on that lunch,” Ilya said, and Shane opened his mouth to disagree until Ilya held a hand up. “I deserve that. It was unkind of me, to use you. And I feel bad about it too.”
“You already apologised,” Shane said, shrugging and looking down.
“I did,” Ilya said, lifting his chin with gentle fingers. “Doesn’t mean I am fully forgiven, though, hm?”
“I don’t want to hold a grudge,” he said, feeling heat spreading up his neck. “That’s not fair to you. And I’m not, really, it’s just—”
“So, I have my idea,” Ilya said, leaning in to kiss his warm cheek.
And then he leant forward. Shane went to meet him, thinking he was going for another kiss, but Ilya just gave him a gentle push back into the couch cushions, continuing forward until he was laying over Shane’s thighs.
Shane blinked a few times as Ilya got himself settled, wriggling his hips a few times in a way that made his stomach tighten.
“Uh—”
“You feel bad, I feel bad,” Ilya said, twisting to look back over his shoulder, crossing his ankles. “So, we fix the problem.”
On pure instinct, he settled a hand between Ilya’s shoulder blades once he was facing forward again, rubbing and feeling the way Ilya melted a little.
“How is this fixing the problem?” Shane asked, and almost smiled at Ilya’s huff.
“Hollander, please tell me you are not this innocent?” he said, twisting around once more. “Why do you think I am in this position?”
Shane’s stomach positively squirmed at that question. Honestly, he’d only ever associated laying over soneone’s lap with one thing, even if it was something he’d never seen or experienced. Like, Ilya had smacked him on the ass a few times when they had sex, but not — this. Whatever this was.
He noticed the tips of Ilya’s ears had turned pink, and he felt his own blush rising into his face again.
Still. It was pretty clear what Ilya was suggesting.
And his heart melted. Fuck.
“You want me to… spank you?” Shane said, stuttering over the word a little, his face now feeling closer to being aflame.
“I think would be good for both of us, yes,” Ilya said, accent a little thicker than normal. “At least to try.”
“I don’t want to use our argument as fuel for sex,” he replied, even as he rested his other hand on the back of Ilya’s waistband, tucking a finger under a belt loop. And perhaps that was hypocritical, they’d argued and fucked about it plenty of times. But this was entirely different.
Ilya huffed again.
“Is not for sex, Hollander,” he said, sounding exasperated. “You think I feel sexy right now?”
“I always think you’re sexy,” he said, imagining the eye roll he got based on the way Ilya’s head moved.
“Focus.”
Shane swallowed down a slightly hysterical giggle, and tried to take in a deep breath.
“I have read on the internet,” Ilya said, and his shoulder muscles tensed under Shane’s left hand, prompting him to press his fingers into them, trying to loosen them. “That this is good. For some couples. Quick. Easy. Problems taken care of without drawing out. And since we have so little time… it could be good for us as well. To — ah, shit, what is it —”
“Wipe the slate clean?” Shane offered, and he watched the back of Ilya’s head bob in agreement.
“Yes,” he said, uncrossing and crossing his ankles again. “That.”
Shane forgot sometimes that even with Ilya’s experience and open nature, things could still make him embarrassed. In fact, Shane was fairly certain the only reason he’d stayed over his thighs so far was so that he didn’t have to look Shane in the face as he made his suggestion. If the colour of his ears and the back of his neck were anything to go by, he was blushing pretty hard.
And having him there, offering himself up to Shane… he realised he could let that anger go. Had done, really. Anything that had remained had been wiped away now Ilya was asking for this, the reason behind it. It was obvious it had been bothering him even more than it had bothered Shane.
“You realise I have no clue how to do this,” he said, letting his finger release the belt loop he’d been holding and moving down to stroke over the curve of Ilya’s ass.
“You smack your hand against my ass, is not difficult,” he grumbled, ducking his head again.
Shane couldn’t help but grin, lift his hand away, and deliver a relatively light slap. The thud was dulled even further by the denim still covering his target, and Ilya let out a long-suffering Russian sound.
“Hollander,” he said, and Shane was still deeply fond of the way he reverted to using his surname when he was feeling a little too vulnerable. He’d been doing it almost the whole time he’d been laying over Shane’s legs. “That was pathetic. I have received harder hits from babies I am forced to hold.”
“You love holding babies,” Shane teased, rubbing his hand up and down again, from Ilya’s tailbone to the crease where cheek met toned thigh.
“That is not the point —” Ilya started and then Shane tried again.
It felt easier, now they were bantering a bit more, to do what Ilya wanted. Shane wasn’t an idiot — he absolutely believed that Ilya meant for this to be good for him, to work out his feelings against his boyfriend’s backside — but he also very heavily suspected this was something Ilya wanted for himself, far more than he thought Shane would get catharsis out of it.
He very rarely gave up control over things, and cloaking it in this being for Shane was directly from his usual playbook. And given the bits and pieces Ilya had told him about his family — other than his mother, who he spoke of so fondly it hurt sometimes — he was used to grudges and stinging words dragging things out far longer than necessary. Maybe the idea of getting something over and done with, sharp and quick, appealed to that side of him.
“Hm, a little better,” Ilya said in assessment, snapping Shane back into the moment. He shifted his hips thoughtfully, and Shane just stayed still, waiting for him to settle again. “Still weak, though. I am not a child, Hollander.”
No, but he was still precious. Despite how infuriating he could be.
Maybe even because of it.
“Shouldn’t I be in charge right now?” he said, squeezing the back of Ilya’s neck comfortingly. “If this is to make me feel better?”
Ilya grumbled under his breath again, but managed to still his movements once more.
“Or,” Shane said, sweeping his hand over denim once more, giving a squeeze to a handful of one cheek. “Is this something you need?”
A hitch of breath.
Got him.
“It’s okay if you do,” he murmured, moving his left hand up to scratch lightly at the back of Ilya’s scalp, like he was a cat rather than a very large hockey player. “I don’t mind doing this for you.”
Ilya pushed himself up, pressing against the couch cushions and Shane’s thighs until he was sat next to him again. A delicate pink sat high on his face, and his eyes were looking off to one side, clear embarrassment and self-consciousness painted across his features.
Shane reached a hand out and cupped his cheek, drawing his gaze back to him.
“I don’t mind,” he said again.
“It is not what we usually do,” Ilya said softly, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth as his eyes slipped off to the side again.
“No,” Shane agreed. “But we can do things differently sometimes. Do you want this? Will it make you feel better?”
Ilya was silent for a moment, still working his teeth against his lip, but eventually, he nodded. A small, quick movement, but Shane had been watching for it.
He slid his hand around the back of Ilya’s head, carding his fingers through the curls there, and then drew him close for a tender kiss.
Ilya’s lips were warm and soft and familiar, and Shane’s own quirked up in a small smile as he felt the heat of Ilya’s blushing meet his own. This was uncharted territory for both of them, but they’d weathered far worse than Ilya wanting something like a punishment for fucking up.
“You ever done this before?” he asked, breaking the kiss but letting their foreheads rest against each other.
“Once or twice,” Ilya admitted, placing his hand on Shane’s thigh and squeezing like it was a stress toy. “It was… okay. Good, I think.”
“Yeah?” Shane said, more for something to say. “It helped?”
A beat of silence.
“Yes,” he mumbled. “It helped.”
“Alright then,” Shane said simply. “You need a safe word or whatever?”
Ilya’s lips curled up.
“Where did you learn about safe words?” he asked, eyes a little more alight.
“The internet,” Shane replied, in the same teasing tone. “It’s full of useful stuff, you should try using it.”
Ilya grumbled to himself in Russian, rolled his eyes, but the corners of his lips were still fighting to lift, so Shane just leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his cheek. Just soft and gentle, something Ilya had been sorely lacking in his life, from the stories he told.
“So,” he said when he pulled back. “Safe word?”
“No,” Ilya said with a shake of his head. “We are not playing like that. You will stop if I say stop?”
“Of course,” Shane vowed, all traces of brevity gone from his voice.
“Okay,” Ilya said, more to himself than to Shane. “That’s good.”
Shane cupped where neck met shoulder, rubbing his thumb over the gold chain there. Ilya’s nerves were a rare thing to see, but so was the vulnerability of the request he’d made. Shane wasn’t sure he could love him more for trusting him with this.
“You wanna get back in position?” he asked, and Ilya made another sound in the back of his throat, glaring — playfully, at least — at Shane as he captured Shane’s lips for a kiss that could easily veer towards filthy.
But there was more beneath it, a gratitude and apology and want and need. Shane could read it all in him, and he cupped Ilya’s face in his hands as he gave back as good as he got. Tried to put his joy to take care of Ilya for a change, and his acceptance of what Ilya wanted, and his lack of judgement.
When they broke apart, each needing to catch their breath a little, Ilya seemed calmer, his mouth tipped up in a crooked smile.
“I do not deserve you,” he murmured, running the backs of his fingers over Shane’s cheekbone.
“Let’s see if you feel the same when your ass is grass,” Shane said, and Ilya barked out a delighted laugh.
“Do your worst, Hollander,” he challenged, somehow managing to make the squirming he needed to do to be able to lay back over Shane’s lap look graceful.
Shane took up the rubbing he’d been doing before as he pondered his next move, his other hand resting in the small of Ilya’s back. He wasn’t adverse to hurting other people, per se, he played hockey, after all. He’d taken and given his own fair share of hits in his time. But this was new territory. This was Ilya. This was Ilya asking him for something specific.
Steeling himself, he lifted and then brought his hand down pretty firmly, watching Ilya react. He stilled a little, but didn’t stiffen, didn’t give much of a sign of anything.
“Closer,” he said eventually. “Go again. I will tell you when.”
Shane huffed some air from his nose at Ilya still managing to control this from his position, and rolled his eyes, before bringing his hand down again, a bit harder.
It took a few more of these before Shane heard the quietest hiss. But Ilya still didn’t say to stick to that intensity. Shane hesitated for a moment, and it was like Ilya was reading his mind.
“Shane,” he said, wrapping a hand around one of his ankles and rubbing his thumb over Shane’s ankle bone. “Keep going. Please.”
“You sure?” he asked.
“Either you go harder or I remove a layer,” Ilya said, turning to glance back over his shoulder.
Shane bit down on his lip for a moment, and before he could realise what was happening, Ilya made a decision, climbed to his feet and was thumbing open his jeans. It was a sight Shane had seen hundreds of times, but it felt different now, seeing the colour across Ilya’s face and the way his movements became jerky as he took a deep breath, shoved his jeans down his thighs and then went back over Shane’s lap for a third time.
“Try again,” he said, voice a little gruffer and deeper.
Ilya’s black boxer briefs hugged his ass, and Shane couldn’t resist running his hand over the cotton, feeling the warmth of Ilya’s skin underneath. A shudder ran through Ilya’s body at the contact, and then he melted a little.
Steeling himself, and trying to remember the intensity he’d used before, he cracked his hand down.
It sounded like a crack as well, seeming to echo around the room, and his heart immediately started barrelling into high gear. That felt way too hard, his palm ringing with sensation, and Ilya had let out a little grunt, shifting. Fuck. Fuck, he’d fucked it up.
“I'm sorry,” Shane said quickly, panic rising up his throat. “I’m sorry, I didn’t —”
“Shane, calm down,” Ilya said, taking his ankle again and giving it a squeeze. “That was good. I promise. Is what I want, yes? I asked you to.”
He still ran his hand apologetically for a moment over Ilya’s lower back.
“If it is too much—”
“No!” Shane said quickly, sucking in a deep breath. “I just… panicked. I want to.”
He was surprised to find it was the truth. He liked the idea of getting to give Ilya this thing he wanted, that he had been trusted with it. He may not know what he was doing, but Ilya had led him through so much in their years together that it felt simple to let him guide them once more.
And despite him never having really thought about it before… now he was getting behind the idea. He wasn’t normally one for being in control in the bedroom — it was nice to take a load off his shoulders and let Ilya take over — he did… he liked this. They’d played with Shane bossing Ilya around and he’d seen the way Ilya’s pupils would dilate, almost hiding the colour. He knew full well Ilya would tell him if he was unhappy with something.
“Hm, is very unlike you to panic,” Ilya teased, and Shane caught the way his cheek lifted with his grin, even with him still facing forward.
“Shut up, you dick,” Shane chided with a huff of a laugh, smacking him again, but lighter this time, playful.
“Urgh, Hollander, just when we were getting somewhere,” Ilya complained, just as playful, until Shane spanked him properly again, feeling a bit more confident.
He hissed and Shane watched as his toes curled in his socks, the way his ass clenched and relaxed again. The way the volume of his breathing increased.
God, he was fucking beautiful.
“Okay,” Ilya said, voice a little thicker. “Like that. Please.”
Somehow, he managed to pick up a rhythm, alternating from right to left, letting his palm fall crisply as Ilya seemed to relax into it. He still tensed from time to time, shifted minutely, but he kept his grip on Shane’s ankle, used the motions of his thumb to silent tell him it was good. What he wanted. Shane was starting to appreciate the little grunts and hisses, swallowing them down as the initial sting in his palm turned into a burn. He could only imagine Ilya was dealing with the same sensation.
An idea popped into Shane’s head as he continued to cover ground.
Despite his initial hesitance, Shane had gotten the hang of this pretty quickly.
Ilya grit his teeth, letting the sting and burn wash over him in waves. He had no idea where his need for this had come from. He hadn’t even considered it until a girl he hooked up with had asked if he was into roleplay. Always up for trying things, he’d gone along with it, taken by the idea of being in the opposite role from normal.
It had been play then, nothing serious, but it had awoken something in him he hadn’t known he’d craved. To fuck up and feel like he could make up with it. He hadn’t lied to Shane — he’d only done this type of thing with two other people. Mainly one, but they’d drifted as her career took her elsewhere. Shane was the first one where he’d laid over a man’s lap for this.
Ilya knew he could have just spoken to Shane about this without the need for pretend. But despite his bravado, some things still made him nervous. He often worried that he’d make a wrong move and Shane would be done. With the set up they had, he already seemed like he was one wrong move from bolting again. But he hadn’t bolted. He’d seemed unsure, but—
“Fuck, Hollander,” he hissed, resisting the urge to shake out his leg after a particularly sharp swat had been landed on his upper thigh.
“It’s not very nice to swear at me when you’re already in trouble,” Shane said, and shot of heat bloomed in Ilya’s stomach, his eyes flying open.
Fuck, Shane was getting into this. Fuck. Fucking… fuck.
“What are you going to do about it?” he asked, half playing along and half genuinely curious.
Thumbs almost instantly hooking into his waistband and yanking down his underwear hadn’t been what he expected.
Purely on instinct, Ilya had lifted his hips to help, and soon found himself half dressed in their living room, laying over his boyfriend’s lap with a sore ass. The first part of that equation wasn’t exactly new, but the others were pretty rare.
“Whoa,” Shane breathed, and Ilya felt curious fingers running over the burning skin of his backside.
He couldn’t help a shiver and a low groan.
“You’re so red,” Shane said, voice deeper than normal. Raspy. The tone he normally only got when…
Oh. He didn’t just like this. He liked this.
“Enjoying the view, Hollander?” Ilya said, wriggling his hips a little, a grin tugging at the corners of his lips as he rubbed his thumb over the delicate bone of Shane’s ankle.
His mouth fell open when Shane started up again with no warning, a gasp getting stuck in his throat. He knew, intellectually, that the thin cotton of his preferred boxer briefs hadn’t been doing much to protect him from the force of Shane’s hand, but something about the skin to skin contact made it feel about ten times more palpable. He was fairly sure he couldn’t actually feel the heat of Shane’s palm, not over the inferno already lit across his own skin, but he imagined he could. Heat meeting heat, Shane giving him everything he wanted.
Something settled in his chest. The fear he’d been feeling loosened its hold. He should have known Shane would have him like this.
Ilya definitely didn’t sniffle.
He did let himself kick his feet out a bit as Shane applied his hand liberally to the ample target Ilya’s ass offered. He was due some indulgences.
“Baiting Hayden wasn’t very nice either, was it?” Shane scolded, and Ilya’s stomach swooped. There was no playing with that tone.
“No,” he agreed. “I should — ah — should not have done it.”
“No, you shouldn’t,” Shane agreed, deciding to focus on Ilya’s upper thighs until he was hissing through his teeth.
“I am,” he broken off, another grunt of a sound escaping his mouth, “very sorry.”
“So you should be,” Shane said, and the talking lapsed again.
Normally such words would have a rock forming in Ilya’s stomach. Memories of shame and harsh words would float to the surface. But it didn’t happen. He felt… safe. He knew Shane would forgive him, would have forgiven him without all of this.
He still had his grip on Shane’s ankle, and he gave a gentle squeeze of thanks.
“You think you’ve learned your lesson?” Shane asked, slowing to a stop and then running his hand all over Ilya’s scorched skin. It prickled and stung, exactly the sensation he’d missed since he’d last been able to do this with anyone.
“Yes,” he said, swiping at his nose with his other hand, trusting Shane to keep him balanced. “I am very sorry, sweetheart. For using a kiss for evil. Never again.”
He heard a soft chuckle from above him, got another soft swat that still made him hiss through his teeth, and then his underwear was being pulled back up.
Once they were almost back into place, he heaved himself up and tugged them the rest of the way. Even the soft cotton made him wince a little — Shane had truly gotten into it. Ilya should have guessed he would, he had a theory that every hockey player was a little sadistic. Well, perhaps all of them except for Ryan Price, poor guy.
Still, he cupped his ass cheeks and felt the heat right through the fabric.
“Fuck,” he breathed, before his eyes finally flicked to Shane.
His face was flushed and his eyes were still somewhere around Ilya’s hips. Normally, he’d assume it was his dick getting the attention, but not this time. He cleared his throat and Shane jumped a little, meeting his eyes as more pink rushed in to help make his freckles pop.
“You liked that, hm?” Ilya said, kicking off his jeans and settling one knee on the couch next to Shane’s thigh, and then the other on the opposite side so he was straddling him. Bending close, he captured his mouth, taking one of Shane’s hands and bringing it to his ass again.
“Fuck, Ilya,” Shane breathed against his lips, and his fingers squeezed the tender flesh, making Ilya let out a wet gasp that turned in a groan as Shane used his other hand to pull him back in.
Their making out was lazy, slow. There was no rush to it now, without the frenzy of their clandestine meetings in hotel rooms when they were younger.
Shane kept kneading his ass, both hands eventually drifting down, as Ilya cupped his face. One hand slid up the left leg hole, pushing the fabric out of the way. Ilya pushed himself down harder on Shane’s hand, grinding his groin down at the same time. He wasn’t really pushing for it, but he could definitely go if Shane wanted to.
“We should take this to the bedroom if you’re gonna keep that up,” Shane mumbled, and Ilya laughed, starting to press kisses all over his face.
“You say that like we haven’t already defiled every inch of this couch,” he said, lingering by Shane’s earlobe, drawing it between his teeth for a moment before kissing it again. “Thank you. For doing that for me.”
“Of course.” The pure earnestness in his voice made Ilya’s eyes prickle. “I’d do anything for you.”
“I love you,” he whispered, and the kiss this time was as sweet as he could make it, resting their foreheads together when they broke apart. Bright smiles painted both of their faces. Unable to help himself, he innocently said, “So, I can go back to terrorising Hayden now, as long as I do not weaponise kissing, yes?”
“You’re an asshole,” Shane chided, but the grin stayed on his face, so Ilya was fairly sure he wasn’t in trouble.
“You love that about me,” he murmured, leaning in again and letting Shane close the distance.
“I love I can do something about it now even more,” Shane replied wickedly, and squeezed Ilya’s ass again.
“Fuck, I’ve created a monster,” he muttered in Russian, but his words were betrayed by the grin on his face and the bliss in his heart.
“Want to get destroyed in Mario Kart?” Shane asked, his voice in the same register as if he’d offered to spend the rest of the afternoon blowing him.
“Oh, Hollander, prepare for infinite defeat,” he growled back, rolling off Shane onto the couch next to him and grabbing the controllers from the coffee table. “I have trained against the world's greatest champions: small children. You do not scare me.”
He had to shift to find a comfortable position once he was sat back against the couch cushions, and he grinned as he waited for Shane to finish his previous round. He couldn't believe his idea had gone so well. Ilya had been so nervous to bring this up with Shane, but he should have known he didn't need to.
God, he fucking loved him so much.
He was going to give him everything he wanted later.
But first, Ilya was going to beat him into the ground via video games. Because love came in all kinds of flavours.